“He was too sick- he didn't think he could keep it down- but to please her, he drank a little. The crisp-sour taste made him recoil. "What is it?"
"Mint tea."Win's angel-blue eyes stared into his without blinking, her beautiful face neutral. "You must drink all of this, and then perhaps another cup. It will make you better."
He knew at once Win was lying. Nothing could make him better. And the bitter tang of morphine in the tea was impossible to conceal. But Merripen sensed an intent in her, a strange deliberateness, and the idea came to him that she was giving him an overdose on purpose. His exhausted mind weighted the possibility. It must be that Win wanted to spare him more suffering, knowing the hours and days to come were beyond his endurance. Killing him with morphine was the last act of kindness she could offer him.
Dying in her arms... cradled against her... as he relinquished his scarred soul to the darkness... Win would be the last thing he would ever feel, see, hear. Had there been any tears in him, he would have wept in gratitude.”